


In your warmth, I forget

by anglaland



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cuddling, England has been screeching for 2000 years, Fluff, FrUK Week 2018, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 12:25:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15436998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anglaland/pseuds/anglaland
Summary: France ignores the world outside to focus on the man between his arms.





	In your warmth, I forget

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @frukweek2018 on tumblr, Day 5: Cuddling In Bed.

When France wakes, (relatively) early on a weekday morning, he nearly goes right back to sleep. His internal clock tells him that it’s not yet noon, and therefore he has no choice but to lie in (especially when he mentally adjusts for the hour time difference between his land and _here_ ).

The curtains in the bedroom darken the room somewhat, but soft morning light peaks through, dimmed by the clouds outside. It’s enough to illuminate the sight of England curled next to him, wrapped up in the duvet. There is a slight chill in the room, autumn weather gladly welcome after the blistering heat of the last few months, and no doubt the reason for the other man’s unconscious desire for warmth.

France is more than content to lean his head against a folded arm and watch his lover breathe in and out, steady and very much alive. If England had been awake, he would have caught France’s pensive look and made some sort of sarcastic quip to distract his thoughts entirely, but for now, France is free to indulge himself in his reflections and worries.

A few minutes later, England’s eyes flutter open, and France curses whatever innate instinct clues England into foiling his plans every single time. He gathers England up into his arms before the other is fully aware of his surroundings, pressing the Brit’s face into his chest.

“Let go of me, you wanker,” England screeches, but muffled into France’s chest it sounds like, “Mggh, lugh goveme, uuh wungher!” France is fluent in many languages (regrettably also including English) but England’s words sound like none of them, so France takes full liberty to ignore him.

They have a tussling match for the next few minutes, as England shoves at France and he does his best to pin England’s arms together. England retaliates by putting frozen feet against France’s legs, and France yelps, but traps them between his calves anyway. Eventually, they reach a tentative peace, with England given ample breathing air, although he is secured tightly against France, pinned between his arms and legs.

“I hate you,” England says empathetically.

“You’ve still lost,” France reminds him.

“It’s a _truce_ ,” England sniffs, but falls silent anyway. After a few moments, “...we should get up.”

France is aghast. “ _Non_ , absolutely not,” he says. “Our bosses have given us the day off, we have no pressing international scandals, and your terrible weather has left us dreary and cold.”

“My weather is fantastic,” England reflexively snaps. “And it’s 9:47 AM. Unlike you, I’d like to have a productive day.”

“9:47 AM?!” France chokes out. “Oui, that settles it: we are enjoying the rest of the morning here in this bed, because we have both woken up too early.”

England tries to twist to glare at France, but only manages to turn half way under the grip of France’s arms. The effect of his scowling green eyes is offset by the fluffy bird’s nest that sits a top of his head, and France can’t help but lean in to kiss his lips. England grumbles into it, but lets him pepper chaste kisses anyway. When France leans back, England involuntary leans forward, and flushes red at the realization and France’s knowing grin.

But he does settle down into France’s arms, back pressed flush against his skin. The sky begins to darken outside and soft rain patters down, thrumming against the windowsill. If France closes his eyes, he can easily slip into a different, more carefree time, when the world didn’t seem quite so big or the horrors quite so grand. He lifts his chin to rest on England’s head, and cocooned around the other nation, slowly falls back asleep.

When he next wakes, it is shortly past noon. He looks downward, and sees England still wrapped up against him, his own arms extending to curl over France’s. At least, in this moment, the world is content.


End file.
